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THE 



EXPERIENCE OF THOMAS JONES, 



WHO WAS 



A SLAVE FOR FORTY-THREE YEARS. 



WRITTEN" BY A FRIEND, 

AS GIVEN TO HIM BY BROTHER JONES. 



"■-< >-'^ 



SPRINGFIELD: 
PRINTED BY H. S. TAYLOR, SANFORD STREET. 

1 854. 



t^ 



'I /I /I 



d/ 



TO THE TRIENDS OF SUFFERING HUMANITY. 



The undersigned take pleasure in certifying, th.at they have 
formed an acquaintance with Brother Thomas Jones, since his es- 
cape from slavery ; having seen and perused liis letters, and his 
certificates of Church relations, and made all suitable enquiries, 
most cordially recommend him to the confidence and aid of all 
who have a heart to sympathize with a down-trodden and out- 
raged portion of the great brotherhood. We would also say, that 
we have heard Brother Jones lecture before our respective church- 
es, and "vve only speak the unanimous sentiments of oUr people, 
when we say, that his narrative is one of thrilling interest, calcu- 
lated to secure the attention of any audience, and to benefit the 
sympathizing hearts of all who will make themselves acquainted 
with the present condition and past experience of this true-heart- 
ed brother. 

E. A. STOCKMAN, 
Pastor of the Wesleyan Church, Boston. 

DANIEL FOSTER, 

Pastor of the Free Evangelical Church, 
North Danvers, Mass. 

To WHOM IT MAY coKCEKN : — This may certify, that the bearer, 
Thomas Jones, has lectured to my people, with good success, giv- 
ing a satisfaction uncommon to one deprived, as he has been, of 
moral or mental cultivation. 

I can cheerfully recommend him to all such as may be inclined . 
to give him a hearing or assistance in any way, in confidence, feel- 
ing that he is an honest and upright man. 

A. B. FLANDERS, 
Pastor of W. M. Church, Exeter, N. H. 

Nov 25, 1849. 



A suffering brother woYild affectionately present tliis simple 
story of deep personal wrongs to tlie earnest friends of the Slave. 
He asks you to buy and read it, for, in so doing, you will help one 
who needs your sympathy and aid, and you will receive, in the 
perusal of this simple narrative, a more fervent conviction of the 
necessity and blessedness of toiling for the desolate members of 
the one great brotherhood who now suffer and die, ignorant and 
despairing, in the vast prison land of the South. " Whatsoever 
ye would that men should do unto you, do ye also unto them." 

THOMAS JONES. 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 



I was bom a slave. My recollections of early life 
are associated with poverty, suffering and shame. I 
was made to feel, in my boyhood's first experience, 
that I was inferior and degraded, and that I must pass 
through life in a dependent and suffering condition. 
The experience of forty-three years, which were pass- 
ed by me in slavery, was one of dark fears and darker 
realities. John Hawes was my first master. He lived 
in Hanover County, N. C, between the Black and 
South Rivers, and was the owner of a large plantation, 
called Hawes' Plantation. He had over fifty slaves. 
I remained with my parents nine years. They were 
both slaves, owned by John Hawes. They had six 
children, Richard, Alexander, Charles, Sarah, myself, 
and John. I remember well that dear old cabin, with its 
clay floor and mud chimney, in which, for nine years, I 
enjoyed the presence and love of my wretched parents. 

Father and mother tried to make it a happy place 
for their dear children. They worked late into the 
night many and many a time to get a little simple fur- 
niture for their home and the home of their children ; 
and they spent many hours of willing toil to stop up 
the chinks between the logs of their poor hut, that they 
and their children might be protected from the storm 
and the cold. I can testify, from my own painful ex- 
perience, to the deep and fond affection which the slave 
cherishes in his heart for his home and its dear ones. 
We have no other tie to link us to the human family, 
but our fervent love for those who are with us and of 
us in relations of sympathy and devotedness, in wrongs 
and wretchedness. My dear parents were conscious 
of the desperate and incurable woe of their position 
1* 



6 N NAKKATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

and destiny ; and of the lot of inevitable suffering in 
store for their beloved children. They talked about 
our coming misery, and they lifted up their voices and 
wept aloud, as ihey spoke of our being torn from them 
and sold off to the dreaded slave-trader, perhaps never 
ao^ain to se& them or hear from them a word of fond 
love. I have heard them speak of their willingness to 
bear their own sorrows without complaint, if only we, 
their dear children, could be safe from the wretched- 
ness before us. And I remember, and now fully un- 
derstand, as I did not then, the sad and tearful look 
they would fix upon us when we were gathered round 
them and running on with our foolish prattle. I am a 
father, and I have had the same feelings of unspeak- 
able anguish, as 1 have looked upon my precious babes, 
and have thought of the ignorance, degradation and 
woe which they must endure as slaves. The great 
God, who knoweth all the secrets of the heart, and 
He only, knows the bitter sorrow I now feel when I 
think of my four dear children who are slaves, torn 
from me and consigned to ho])eless servitude by the 
iron hand of ruthless wrong. I love those children with 
all a father's fondness. God gave them to me ; but my 
brother took them from me, in utter scorn of a father's 
earnest pleadings ; and I never shall look upon them 
again, till I meet them and my oppressors at the final 
o;atherino:. Will not the Great Father and God make 
them and me reparation in the final award of mercy to 
the victim, and of justice to the cruel desolator ? 

Mr. Hawes was a very severe and cruel master. He 
kept no overseer, but managed his own slaves with the 
help of Enocl), his oldest son. Once a year he distrib- 
uted clothing to his slaves. To the men he gave one 
pair of shoes, one blanket, one hat, and five yards of 
coarse, home-spun cotton ; to the women a correspond- 
ing outfit, and enough to make one frock for each of the 
children. The slaves were obliged to make up their 
own clothes, after the severe labor of the plantation had 
been performed. Any other clothing, beyond this yearly 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 7 

supply, which they might need, the slav^es were com- 
pelled to get by extra work, or do without. 

The supply of food given out to the slaves, was one 
peck of corn a week, or some equivalent, and nothing 
besides. They must grind their own corn, after the 
work of the day was performed, at a mill which stood 
on the plantation. We had to eat our coarse bread 
without meat, or butter, or milk. Severe labor alone 
gave us an appetite for our scanty and unpalatable 
fare. Many of the slaves were so hungry after their 
excessive toil, that they were compelled to steal food 
in addition to this allowance. 

Daring the planting and harvest season, we had to 
work early and late. The men and women were call- 
ed at three o'clock in the morning, and were worked 
on the plantation till it was dark at night. After that 
they must prepare their food for supper and for the 
breakfast of the next day, and attend to other duties 
of their own dear homes. Parents would often have 
to work for their children at home, after each day's 
protracted toil, till the middle of the night, and then 
snatch a few hours' sleep, to get strength for the heavy 
burdens of the next day. 

In the month of November, and through the winter 
season, the men and women worked in the fields, clear- 
ing up new land, chopping and burning bushes, burn- 
ing tar kilns, and digging ditches. They worked to- 
gether, poorly clad, and suffering from the bitter cold 
and wet of those winter months. Women, wives and 
mothers, daughters and sisters, on that plantation, were 
compelled to toil on cold stormy days in the open field, 
while the piercing wind and driving storm benumbed 
their limbs, and almost froze the tears that came forth 
out of their cold and desolate hearts. Little boys, and 
girls, too, worked and cried, toting brush to the fires, 
husking the corn, watching the stock, and running on 
errands for master, and mistress, for their three sons, 
Enoch, Edward and John, and constantly receiving 
from them scoldings and beatings as their reward. 



8 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

Thus passed nine years of my life ; years of suffer- 
ing, the shuddering memory of which is deeply fixed in 
my heart. Oh, that these happy, merry boys and girls, 
whom I have seen in Massachusetts since my escape 
from slavery, whom I have so often met rejoicing in 
their mercies since I came here, only knew the deep 
wretchedness of the poor slave child ! For then, I am 
sure, their tender hearts would feel to love and pray for 
these unhappy ones, on whose early life hopeless suffer- 
ings bear down a crushing, killing burden ! These nine 
years of wretchedness passed, and a change came for 
me. My master sold me to Mr. Jones, of WilmingtoUj 
N. C, distant forty-five miles from Hawes' plantation. 
Mr. Jones sent his slave driver, a colored man named 
Abraham, to conduct me to my new home in Wilming- 
ton. I was at home with my mother when lie came. 
He looked in at the door, and called to me, '' Tom, you 
must go with me." His looks were ugly and his voice 
was savage. I was very much afraid, and began to cry, 
holding on to my mother's clothes, and begging her to 
protect me, and not let the man take me away. Moth- 
er wept bitterly, and in the midst of her loud sobbings, 
cried out in broken words, " I can't save you. Tommy ; 
master has sold you, you must go." She threw her 
arms around me, and while the hot tears fell on my 
face, she strained me to her heart. There she held me, 
sobbing and mourning, till the brutal Abraham came in, 
snatched me away, hurried me out of the house where 
I was born, my only home, and tore me away from the 
dear mother who loved me as no other friend could do. 
She followed him, imploring a moment's delay, and 
weeping aloud, to the road, where he turned around, 
and striking at her with his heavy cowhide, fiercely or- 
dered her to stop bawling, and go back into the house. 

Thus was I snatched from the presence of my loving 
parents, and from the true affection of the dear ones of 
home. For thirteen weary years did my heart turn in 
its yearnings to that precious home. And then at the 
age of twenty-two, was I permitted to revisit my early 



NABRATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 9 

home. I found it all desolate ; the family all broken 
up ; father was sold and gone ; Richard, Alexander, 
Charles, Sarah, and John were sold and gone. Mother, 
prematurely old, heartbroken, utterly desolate, weak and 
dying, alone remained. I saw her, and wept once more 
on her bosom. I went back to my chains with a deep- 
er woe in my heart than I had ever felt before. There 
was but one thought of joy in my wretched conscious- 
ness, and that was, that my kind and precious mother 
would soon be at rest in the grave. And then, too, I 
remember, I mused with deep earnestness on death, as 
the only friend the poor slave had. And I wished that 
I too might lie down by my mother's side, and die with 
her in her loving embrace. 

I should have related, that one of the earliest scenes 
of painful memory associated with my opening years of 
suffering is connected with a severe whipping which my 
master inflicted on my sister Sarah. He tied her up, 
having compslled her to strip herself entirely naked, in 
the smoke-house, and gave her a terrible whipping — at 
least so it seemed to my young heart, as I heard her 
scream, and stood by my mother, who was wringing her 
hands in an agony of grief, at the cruelties which her 
tender child was enduring. I do not know what my 
sister had done for which she was then whipped ; but I 
remember that her body was marked and scarred for 
weeks after that terrible scourging, and that our parents 
always ?i(ter seemed to hold their breath when they spoke 
of it. Sarah was the last of the family who was sold ; 
and my poor mother never looked up after this final act 
of cruelty was accomplished. I think of my only sister 
now ; and often try to imagine where she is, and hoiv she 
fares in this cruel land of slavery. And, oh, my God, 
how dark and wretched are these pictures ! Can I think 
of that poor sister without a sorrow too great for utter- 
ance ? Ah me I how can the generous, loving brother 
or sister, blessed with freedom, forget the cruel sorrows 
and wrongs of the slave brother and sister ? How fel- 
lowship, even in the least act of comity, the atrocious 



10 NAURATIVE OF A HEIUGEE SLAVE. 

slave-holder? There may be some who do this from 
ignorance of such cruel wrono^s. God o-rant that this 
simple story may enlighten some who only need to laiow 
our deep necessities, to give us their willing sympathy 
and aid and love. 

My journey to Wilmington with the heartless Abra- 
ham was a very sad one. We walked all the way. I 
was afraid of my savage companion ; and yet my heart 
felt so desolate, and my longings for sympathy so in- 
tense, that I was impelled to turn to my cruel guide for 
relief. He was striding alono; in stern o;loom and silence, 
too fast for my young feet to keep pace ; and I began 
to feel that I must stop and rest. It was bitter cold, 
too, and I was poorly clad to bear the keen air of a Jan- 
uary day. My limbs were weary with travel, and stiff 
with cold. I could not go on at the rate I had done, 
and so I turned to my guide and begged him to take me 
into some hut and let me rest and get warm. He cursed 
me, and told me to keep silence and come along, or he 
would warm me with a cowhide. 0:i, I tliought how 
cruel and hopeless my lot ! Would that I could fall 
clown here and die. And I did fall down. We had 
just passed through a soft, wet place, and it seemed to 
me that I was frozen. And I fell down on my dark, 
cold way, unable to proceed. I was then carried into a 
slave's cabin, and allowed to warm and rest. It was 
nearly midnight when I arrived, \vith my conductor, at 
my place of exile and suffering. And certainly no heart 
could be more entirely wretched than I was when I 
threw my weary, aching body on my cold, hard bed. 

The next morning I was called into the presence of 
Mr. Jones, my new master, and my work was assigned 
to me. I was to take care of the old gray horse, kept 
for the use of the family when they wished to ride out, 
to fetch water froni the spring to the house, to go on 
errands to my master's store, to clean the boots and 
shoes belonf^inir to the white members of the familv, and 
to the white visiters, to sweep the rooms, and to bring 
wood from the wharf on my head for the fires at the 



NARKATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 11 

house and store. From the first dawn of day till ten 
and eleven, and sometimes twelve at night, I could 
hardly find one moment's time for rest. And, oh, how 
the memory of that year of constant toil and weariness 
is imprinted on my heart, an impression of appalling 
sorrow. My dreams are still haunted with the agony of 
that year. I had just been torn from my home ; my 
yearning heart was deprived of the sweet sympathy of 
those to whose memory I then clung, and to whom my 
heart still turns with irrepressible and unutterable long- 
ings. I was torn from them and put into a circle of 
cold, selfish and cruel hearts, and put then to perform 
labors too great for my young strength. And yet I lived 
through that year, just as the slave lives on through 
weary years of suffering, on which no ray of light shines, 
save that which hope of a better, happier future gives 
even to the desolate bondman. I lived through it, with 
all its darkness and sorrow. That year I received my 
first whipping. I had failed one day to finish my allot- 
ted task. It seemed to me that I had done my best ; 
but somehow, that day, thoughts of home came so fresh 
and tender into my mind, and, along with these thoughts, 
a sense of my utter hopeless desolation came in and 
took such a strong hold of my heart, that I sank down 
a helpless, heartbroken child. My tasks for that day 
were neglected. The next morning my master made 
me strip off my shirt, and then whipped me with a cow- 
hide till the blood ran trickling down upon the floor. 
My master was very profane, and with dreadful oaths, 
he assured me that there was only one way for me to 
avoid a repetition of this terrible discipline, and that 
was to do my tasks every day, sick or well. 

And so this year went by, and my duties were 
changed, and my lot was made a little easier. The 
cook, Fanny, died, and I was put into her place. I still 
had to get wood, and keep the fires in the house, and, 
after the work of cooking, setting the table, clearing 
away and washing the dishes, there was 'always some- 
thing to be done for my mistress. I got but little time 



12 NAREATITE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 

to rest ; but I got enough to eat, which I had not done 
the year before. I was by the comfortable fire, a good 
part of the cold winter weather, instead of being ex- 
posed to ihe cold and wet, without warm clothing, as I 
had been the year before, and my labor was not so hard 
the second year as it had been the first. 

My mistress complained of me at length, that I was 
not so obedient as I ought to be, and so I was taken 
from the house into the store. My business there was 
to open and sweep out the store in the morning, and get 
all the things ready for the accommodation of custom- 
ers who might come in during the day. Then I had to 
bring out and deliver all heavy articles ihat might be 
called for during the day, such as salt, large quantities 
of which were sold in the store ; ship stores, grain, Sic. 
I had also to hold myself ready to run on any errand my 
master or his clerk, David Cogdell, might wish to send 
me on. While Cogdell remained in the store, I enjoyed 
a gleam of happiness. He was very kind to me, never 
giving me a cross word or a sour look ; always ready to 
show me how to do anything which I did not under- 
stand, and to perform little acts of kindness to me. His 
condescension to me, a poor, despised, homeless and 
friendless slave, and his tenderness to me, while all oth- 
ers were severe and scornful, sank down a precious bond 
of grateful emotion into my desolate heart. I seemed 
to be lified up by this noble friend at times, from the 
dark despair which had settled down upon my life, and 
to be joined once more to a living hope of future im- 
provement in my sad lot. Should these simple words 
ever meet the eye of David Cogdell, let them assure 
him of my fervent gratitude and affection for his good- 
ness to me. Let them tell him how infinitely precious 
to my mourning heart, then and now, his generous treat- 
ment and noble kindness of a despised and unhappy boy. 
And let them say to him, " My early and true friend, 
Tommy, the poor slave boy, whom you blessed with 
unfailing kindness, has now grown to be a man, and has 
run away from the dark misery of bondage. And now, 



NARRATIVE OF A EEFUGEE SLAVE. 13 

when he calls upon his Father in Heaven to pour out 
rich blessings on the few friends who have aided him, 
then David Cogdell is remembered with fond and fervent 
affection." David was one of the few who always re- 
gard the feelings and happiness of others as earnestly as 
his own ; wlio find their own happiness in making the 
unfortunate happy, by sympathy and kindness, and who 
would suffer any loss rather than do injustice to the 
poor and defenceless. I often wondered how there 
could be such a difference in the character of two men, 
as there was between that of my master, and my friend 
and benefactor, David Cogdell. And I often wished 
that I might pass into the hands of such a man as he 
was. But his kindness and generosity to the poor 
slaves was very offensive to my master, and to otlier 
slaveholders; and so, at length, Mr. Jones turned him 
off, though he was compelled to acknowledge, at the 
same time, that he was the most trustworthy and valu- 
able assistant he had ever iiad in his store. 

After my master dismissed Mr. C, he tried to get along 
with me alone in the store. He kept the books and wail- 
ed upon the most genteel of his customers, leaving me 
to do the rest of the work. This went on six months, 
when he declared that he could not bear this confine- 
ment any longer ; and so he got a white boy to come and 
enter as clerk, to stay till he was of age. James Dixon 
was a poor boy, about my own age, and when he came 
into the store, could hardly read or write. He was ac- 
cordingly engaged a part of each day with liis books and 
writing. I saw him studying, and asked him to let me 
see his book. Wlien he felt in a good humor, James 
was very kind and obliging. The great trouble with him 
was, that his fits of ill-humor were much more frequent 
than his times of good feeling. It happened, however, 
that he was on good terms with himself when I asked 
him to show me his book, and so he let me take it, and 
look at it, and he answered very kindly many questions 
which I asked him about books and scliools and learninir. 
He told me that he was trying to get learning enough to 
2 



14 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 

fit him to do a good business for himself after he should 
get through with Mr. Jones. He told me that a man who 
had learning would always find friends, and get along 
very well in the world without having to work hard, 
while those who had no learning would have no friends 
and be compelled to work very hard for a poor living all 
their days. This was all new to me, and furnished me 
topics for wondering thought for days afterwards. The 
result of my meditations was, that an intense burning 
desire to learn to read and write took possession of my 
mind, occupying me wholly in waking hours, and stirring 
up earnest thoughts in my soul even when I slept. The 
question, which then took hold of my whole conscious- 
ness was, how can I get a book to begin ? James told 
me that a spelling-book was the first one necessary in 
getting learning. So I contrived how I might obtain a 
spelling-book. At length, after much study, 1 hit upon 
this plan : I cleaned the boots of a Mr. David Smith Jr., 
who carried on the printing business, in Wilmington, 
and edited the Cape Fear Recorder. He had always 
appeared to me to be a very kind man. I thought I 
would get him to aid me in procuring a spelling-book. 
So I went one morning, with a beating heart, into his of- 
fice, and asked him to sell me a spelling-book. He 
looked at me in silence, and with close attention, for 
some time, and asked me what I wanted. I told him I 
wanted to learn to read. He shook his head, and replied, 
" No, Thomas, it would not answer for me to sell you a 
book to learn out of; you must not learn to read ; you 
will only get yourself into trouble if you attempt it ; and I 
advise yoii to get that foolish notion out of your head as 
quickly as you can." 

David's brother, Peter Smith, kept a kook and sta- 
tionery store under the printing office, and I next appli- 
ed to him for a book, determined to persevere till I ob- 
tained this coveted treasure. He asked me the same 
question that his brother David had done, and with the 
same searching, suspicious look. By my previous repulse 
I had discovered that I could not get a spelling-book, if I 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 15 

told what I wanted to do with it, and so I told a lie, in 
order to get it. I answered, that I wanted it for a white 
boy, naming one that lived at my master's, and that he 
had given me the money to get it with, and had asked 
me to call at the store and buy it. The book was then 
handed out to me, the money taken in return, and I left, 
feeling very rich with my long desired treasure. I got 
out of the store, and, looking round to see that no one 
observed me, I hid my book in my bosom, and hurried 
on to my work, conscious that a new era in my life was 
opening upon me through the possession of this book. 
That consciousness at once awakened new thcfughts, 
purposes, and new hopes, a new life, in fact, in my ex- 
perience. My mind was excited. The words spoken 
by James Dixon of the great advantages of learning, 
made me intensely anxious to learn. I was a slave ; and 
I knew that the whole community was in league to keep 
the poor slave in ignorance and chains. Yet I longed to 
be free, and to be able to move the minds of other men 
by my lhouu;hts. It seemed to me now, that, if I could 
learn to read and write, this learning might — nay, I 
really thought it would, point out to me the way to free- 
dom, influence, and real, secure happiness. So I hur- 
ried on to my master's store, and, watching my opportu- 
nity to do it safe from curious eyes, I hid my book with 
the utm.ost care, under some liquor barrels in the smoke 
house. The first opportunity I improved to examine my 
book. I looked it over with the most intent eagerness, 
turned over its leaves, and tried to discover what the new 
and strange characters which I saw in its pages might 
mean. But I found it a vain endeavor. I could under- 
stand a picture, and from it make out a story of immedi- 
ate interest to my mind. But I could not associate any 
thought or fact with these crooked letters with which my 
primer was filled. So the next day I sought a favora- 
ble moment, and asked James to tell me where a scholar 
must begin in order to learn to read, and how. He 
laughed at my ignorance, and, taking his spelling-book, 
showed me the alphabet in large and small letters on the 



16 NARKATIVE OF A ilEFUGEE SLAVE. 

same page. I asked liim the name of the first letter, 
pointing it out, he told me A ; so of the next, and so on 
through the alpliabet. 1 managed to remember A and 
B, and I studied and looked out the same letters in 
many other parts of the book. And so I fixed in a 
tenacious memory the names of the two first letters of 
the alphabet. But I found 1 could not get on without 
help, and so I applied to James again to show me the 
letters and tell me their names. This time he suspect- 
ed me of trying to learn to read myself, and he plied 
me with questions till he ascertained that I was, in good 
earnest, entering upon an effort to get knowledge. At 
this discovery, he manifested a good deal of indignation. 
He told me, in scorn, that it was not for such as me to 
try to improve, that /was a slave, and that it was not 
proper for me to learn to read. He threatened to tell 
my master, and at length, by his hard language, my an- 
ger was fully aroused, and I answered taunt with taunt. 
He called me a poor miserable niggar ; and I called him 
a poor, ignorant ^^hite servant boy. While we were 
enfjaged in loud and an^rv words, of mutual defiance and 
.scorn, mv master came into the store. Mr. Jones had 
never given me a whipping since the time I have al- 
ready described, during my first year of toil, want and 
sufFeiing in his service. But he now caught me in the 
unpardonable oftence of fnvinir saucv laniiuafre to a white 
boy, and one, too, who was in his employ. Without 
stopping to make any enquiries, he took down the cow- 
hide, and gave me a severe whipping. He told me 
never to talk back to a w liite man on pain of flogging. 
I suppose this law or custom is universal at the south. 
And 1 suppose it is thought necessary to enforce this 
habit of obsequious submission on the part of the colored 
people to the whites, in order to maintain their supre- 
macy over the poor, outraged slaves. 

1 will mention, in this connection, as illustrative of 
this cruel custom, an incident which I saw just before I 
ran away from my chains. A little colored boy was 
carrying alonir throuiih Wilmino;ton a basket of food. 



NAEKATIVE OF A RFFUGEE SLATE. 17 

His name was Ben, and he belonged to Mrs. Runkin, a 
widow lady. A little mischievous white boy, just about 
Ben's age and size, met him, and purposely overturned 
the little fellow's basket, and scattered his load in the 
mud. Ben, in return for this wanton act, called him 
some hard name, when the white boy clinched him to 
throw him down with the scattered fragments upon his 
basket in the mud. Ben resisted, and threw down the 
white boy, proving to be the stronger of the two. Tom 
Myers, a young lawyer of Wilmington, saw the contest, 
and immediately rushing out, seized little Ben, and drag- 
ged him into the store opposite the place of battle. He 
sent out to a saddler's shop, procured a cow-hide, and 
gave the little fellow a tremendous flogging, for the dar- 
ing crime of resisting a white boy who had wantonly in- 
vaded his rights. Is it any wonder that the spirit of 
self-respect of the poor ignorant slave is broken down by 
such treatment of unsparing and persevering cruelty ? 

I was now repulsed by James, so that 1 could hope 
for no assistance from him in learning; to read. But i 
could not go on alone. I must get some one to aid me 
in starting, or give up the efibrt to learn. This I could 
not bear to do. 1 longed to be able to read, and so I 
cast about me to see what I should do next. I thought 
of a kind boy at the bake-house, near my own age. I 
thought he would help me, and so I went to him, showed 
my book, and asked him to teach me tiie letters. He 
told their names, and went over the wliole alphabet wilh 
me three times. By this assistance, I learned a few more 
of the- letters, so that I could remember them afterwards 
when 1 sat down alone and tried to call them over. I 
could now pick out and name five or six of the letters 
in any part of the book. 1 felt then that I was getting 
along, and the consciousness that I was making progress, 
though slow and painful, was joy and hope to my sorrow- 
ing heart, such as I never felt before. I could not with 
safety go to the bake-house, as there I was exposed to 
detection by the sudden entrance of customers or idlers. 
I wanted to get a teacher who would give me a little aid 
2* 



18 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

each day, and now I set about securing this object. 
As kind Providence would have it, I easily succeeded, 
and on this wse : A little boy, Hiram Bricket, ten years 
old, or about that age, came along by the store one day, 
on his way home from school, while my master was gone 
home to dinner, and James was in the front part of the 
store. I beckoned to Hiram to come round to the back 
door; and with him I made a bargain to meet me each 
day at noon, when I was allowed a little while to get my 
dinner, and to give me instruction in reading. I was to 
give him six cents a week. I met him the next day at 
his father's stable, the place agreed upon for our daily 
meeting ; and, going into one of the stables, the noble 
little Hiram gave me a thorough lesson in the alphabet. 
I learned it nearly all at that time, v/ith what study I 
could give it by stealth during the day and night. And 
then again I felt lifted up and happy. 

I was permitted to enjoy these advantages, however, 
but a short time. A black bov, belonj^ino: to Hiram's 
father, one day discovered our meeting and what we 
were doing. He told his master of it, and Hiram was 
at once forbidden this employment. I had then got 
along so that I was reading and spelling in words of two 
syllables. My noble little teacher was very patient and 
faithful with me, and my days were passing away in very 
great happiness under the consciousness that I was learn- 
ing to read. I felt at night, as I went to my rest, that 
I was really beginning to be a man, preparing myself 
for a condition in life better and higher, and happier than 
could belono; to the io-norant slave. And in this blessed 
feeling I found, waking and sleeping, a most precious 
happiness. 

After 1 was deprived of my kind little teacher, I plod- 
ded on the best way I could by myself, and in this way 
1 got into words of five syllables. I got some little time 
lo study by daylight in the morning, before any of my 
master's family had risen. I got a moment's opportu- 
nity also at noon, and sometimes at night. During the 
day, I was in the back store a good deal, and whenever 



NAEKATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 19 

I thought 1 could have five minutes to myself, I would 
take my book and try to learn a little in reading and 
spelling. If I heard James, or master Jones, or any cus- 
tomer coming in, I would drop my book among the bar- 
rels, and pretend to be very busy shovelling the salt or 
doing some other work. Several limes I came very near 
being detected. My master suspected something, be- 
cause I was so still in the back room, and a number of 
times he came very slyly to see what I was about. But 
at such times I was always so fortunate as to hear his 
tread or see his shadow on the wall in time to hide away 
my book. 

When I had got along to words of five syllables, I 
went to see a colored friend, Ned Cowan, whom I knew 
I could trust. I told him I was trying to learn to read, 
and asked him to help me a little. He said he did not 
dare to give me any instruction, but he heard me read a 
few words, and then told me I should learn if I would 
only persevere as nobly as I had done thus far. I told 
him how I had got along, and what difficulties I had 
met with. He encouraged me, and spoke very kindly of 
my efforts to improve my condition by getting learning. 
He told me I had got along far enough to get another 
book, in which T could learn to write the letters, as well 
as to read. He told me where and how to procure this 
book. I followed his directions, and obtained another 
spelling-book at Worcester's store in Wilmington. Jacob 
showed me a little about writing. He set me a copy, 
first of straight marks. I now got me a box which I 
could hide under my bed, some ink, pens, and a bit of 
candle. So, when I went to bed, I pulled my box out 
from under my cot, turned it up on end, and began my 
first attempt at writing. I worked away till my candle 
was burned out, and then laid down to sleep. Jacob 
next set me a copy, which he called pot-hooks ; then, 
the letters of the alphabet. These letters were also in 
my new spelling-book, and according lo Jacob's direc- 
tions, I set them before me for a copy, and wrote on 
these exercises till I could form all the letters and call 



20 NAERATITE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

th^-m by name. One evening I wrote out my name in 
large letters— THOMAS JONES. This I carried to 
Jacob, in a great excitement of happiness, and he warm- 
ly commended me for my perseverance and diligence. 

About this time, I was at the store early one morning, 
and, thinkino; I was safe from all dan o'er for a few min- 
utes, had seated myself in the back store, on one of the 
ba/rels, to study in my precious spelling-book. While 
I v/as absorbed in this happy enterprize, my master came 
in, much earlier than usual, and I did not hear him. He 
came directly into the back store. I saw his shadow on 
the wall, just in time to throw my book over in among 
the barrels, before he could see what it was, although he 
saw that 1 had thrown something quickly away. His 
suspicion v/as aroused. He said tliat I had been stealing 
something out of the store, and fiercely ordered me to 
get what I threw away just as he was coming in at the 
door. Without a moment's hesitation, I determined to 
save my precious book and my future opportunities to 
learn out of it. I knew if my book was discovered that 
all was lost, and I felt prepared for any hazard or suffer- 
ing rather than give up my book and my hopes of im- 
provement. So I replied at once to his questions, that I 
had not thrown any thing away ; that I had not stolen 
any thing from the store ; that I did not have any thing 
in my hands which I could throw away when he came in. 
My master declared, in a high passion, that I was lying, 
and ordered me to begin and roll away the barrels. This 
I did ; but managed to keep the book slipping along so 
that he could not see it, as he stood in the door-way. He 
charged me again with stealing and throwing something 
away, and I again denied the charge. In a great rage, he 
got down his long, heavy cow-hide, and ordered me to 
strip off my jacket and shirt, saying, with an oath, '' I will 
make you tell me what it was you had when I came." I 
stripped myself, and came forward, according to his direc- 
tions, at the same time denying his charge with great 
earnestness of tone, and look, and manner. He cut me 
on my naked back, perhaps thirty times, with great 



NARRATIVE OF A EETUGEE SLATE. 21 

severity, making the blood flow freely. He then stop- 
ped, and asked me what I had thrown away as he came 
in. I answered again that I had thrown notliing away. 
He swore terribly ; said he was certain I was lying, and 
declared he would kill me, if I did not tell him the truth. 
He whipped me the second time with greater severity, 
and at greater length than before. He then repeated 
his question, and I answered again as before. I was 
determined to die, if I could possibly bear the pain, rather 
than give up my dear book. He whipped me the third 
time, with the same result as before, and then seizing 
hold of my shoulders, turned me round, as though he 
would inflict on my quivering flesh still another scourging, 
but he saw the deep gashes he had already made, and 
the blood already flowing under his cruel infliction ; and 
his stern purpose failed him. He said, "Why, Tom, I 
didn't think I had cut you so bad," and, saying that, he 
stopped, and told me to put on my shirt again. I did 
as he bade me, although my coarse shirt touching my 
raw back put me to a cruel pain. He then went out, 
and I got my book and hid it safely away before he came 
in again. When I went to the house, my wounds had 
dried, and I was in an agony of pain. JVIy mistress told 
the servant girl, Rachel, to help me off with my shirt, 
and to wash my wounds for me, and put on to them 
some sweet oil. The shirt was dried to my back, so 
that it could not be got ofl'wilhoi^it tearing off" some of 
the skin with it. The pain, upon doing this, was greater 
even than I had endured from my cruel whipping. Af- 
ter Rachel had got my shirt off, my mistress asked me 
what I had done for which my master had whipped me so 
severely. I told her he had accused me of stealing when 
I had not, and then had whipped me to make me own it. 

While Rachel was putting on the sweet oil, my mas- 
ter came in, and I could hear mistress scolding him forgiv- 
ing me such an inhuman beating, when I had done noth- 
ing. He said in reply, that Tom was an obstinate liar, 
and that was the reason why he had whipped me. 

But I got well of my mangled back, and my book was 



22 NAURATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

still left. This was my best, my constant friend. With 
great eagerness, I snatched every moment I could get, 
morning, noon and night, for study. I had begun to read ; 
and, oh, how I loved to study, and to dwell on the 
thoughts which I gained from reading. About this time, 
I read a piece in my book about God. It said that 
^' God, who sees and knows all our thoughts, loves the 
good and makes them happy ; while he is angry with the 
bad, and will punish them for all their sins." This made 
me feel very unhappy, because I was sure that I was 
not good in the sisht of God. I thought about this, and 
couldn't get it out of my mind a single hour. So I went 
to James Galley a colored man, who exhorted the slaves 
sometimes on Sunday, and told him my trouble, asking, 
" what shall I do ?" He- told me about Jesus, and told 
me I must pray the Lord to forgive me and help me to be 
good and happy. So I went home, and went down cellar 
and prayed, but I found no relief, no comfort for my un- 
happy mind. I felt so bad that I could not even study my 
book. My master saw that I looked very unhappy, and 
he asked me what ailed me. I did not dare now to tell a 
lie, for I wanted to be good, that I might be happy. So 
I told my master just how it was with me ; and then he 
swore terribly at me, and said he would whip me if I did 
not give over praying. He said there was no heaven 
and no hell, and that Christians were all hypocrites, and 
that there was nothing ^fter this life, and that he would 
no: permit me to go moping round, praying and going to 
the meetings. I told him I could not help praying ; and 
then he cursed me in a great passion, and declared he 
would whip me if he knew of my going on any more in 
that foolish way. The next night I was to a meeting, 
which was led by Jack Gammon, a free colored man, 
and a class leader in the Methodist Church. I was so 
much overcome by my feelings, that I s.taid very late. 
They prayed for me, but I did not yet find any relief; 
I was still very unhappy. The next morning, my mas- 
ter came in, and asked me if I went the night before to 
the meeting. I told him the truth. He said, ''didn't I 



KARRATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 23 

tell you I would whip you if you went nigh these meet- 
ings, and didn't I tell you to stop this foolish praying?" 
I told him he did, and if he would, why, he might whip 
me, but still I could not stop praying, because I want- 
ed to be good, that I might be happy and go to heaven. 
This reply made my master very angry. With many 
bitter oaths, he said he had promised me a whipping, 
and now he should be as good as his word. And so he 
was. He whipped me, and then forbade, with bitter 
threatenings, my praying any more, and especially my 
going again to meeting. This was Friday morning. 1 
continued to pray for comfort and peace. The next Sun- 
day I went to meeting. The minister preached a sermon 
on being born again, from the words of Jesus to IVico- 
demus. All this only deepened my trouble of mind. I 
returned home very unhappy. Collins, a free man of 
color, was at the meeting, and told my master that I was 
there. So, on Monday morning my master wdiipped me 
again, and once more forbade my going to meetings and 
praying. The next Sunday there was a class meeting, 
led by Binney Pinnison, a colored free man. I asked my 
master, towards night, if I might go out. I told him I 
did not feel well. I wanted to go to the class meetino^. 
Without asking me where I was going, he said I might 
go. I went to the class. I staid very late, and I w^as so 
overcome by my feelings, that I could not go home that 
night. So they carried me to Joseph Jones's cabin, a 
slave of Mr. Jones. Joseph talked and prayed with me 
nearly all night. In the morning I went home as soon 
as it was light, and, for fear of master, I asked Nancy, 
one of the slaves, to go up into mistress's room and get 
the store key for me, that I might go and open the store. 
My master told her to go back and tell me to come up. 
I obeyed with many fears. My master asked me where 
I had been the night before. I told him the whole truth. 
He cursed me again, and said he should whip me for my 
obstinate disobedience ; and he declared he would kill 
me if I did not promise to obey him. He refused to lis- 
ten to my mistress, who was a professor, and who tried to 



24 NARKATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

intercede for me. And, just as soon as he had finished 
threatening me with what he would do, he ordered me to 
take the key and go and open the store. When he came 
into the store that morning, two of his neighbors, JuHus 
Dumbiven, and McCaushn, came in too. He called me 
up and asked me again where I staid last night. I told 
him with his boy, Joseph. He said he knew that was a 
lie ; and he immediately sent off for Joseph to confirm 
his suspicions. He ordered me to strip off my clothes, 
and, as I did so, he took down the cow-hide, heavy and 
stiff with blood which he had before drawn from my 
body with thai cruel weapon, and which was congealed 
upon it. Dumbiven professed to be a Christian, and 
he now came forward, and earnestly interceded for me, 
but to no purpose, and then he left. McCauslin asked 
my master, if he did not know that a slave was worth 
more money after he became pious than he was before. 
And why then, he said, should you forbid Tom going 1o 
meetings and praying? He replied, that religion was 
all a damned mockery, and he was not going to have 
any of his slaves praying and whining round about their 
souls. McCauslin then left. Joseph came and told the 
same story about the night before that I had done ; and 
then he began to b^g master not to whip me. He cursed 
him and drove him off. He then whipped me with 
great severity inflicting terrible pain at every blow upon 
my quivering body, which was still very tender from re- 
cent lacerations. My suffering was so great, that it 
seemed to me I should die. He paused at length, and 
asked me would I mind him and stop praying. I told 
iiim I could not promise him not to pray any more, for I 
felt that I mu>t and should pray as long as I lived. 
*' Well, then, Tom," he said, " I swear that I will whip 
you to death." I told him I could not help myself, if 
he was determined to kill me, but that Imustpray while 
I lived. He then began to whip me the second time, 
but soon stopp.d, threw down the bloody cow-hide, and 
told me to go wash myself, in the river, just back of the 
store, and then dress myself, and if I was determined to 



NARRATIVE OT A REFUGEE SLAVE. 25 

'be a fool, why, I must be one. My mistress now inter- 
ceded earnestly for me with my cruel master. The next 
Sabbath was love feast, and I felt very anxious to join in 
that feast. This I could not do without a paper from 
my master, and so I asked mistress to help me. She 
advised me to be patient, and said she would help me 
all she could. Master refused to give any paper, and so 
I could not join in the love feast the next day. 

On the next Friday evening, I went to the prayer 
meeting. Jack Gammon was there, and opened the 
meeting with prayer. Then Binney Pennison gave out 
the sweet hymn, which begins in these words; 

** Come ye sinners poor and needy. 
Weak, and wounded, sick and sore." 

I felt that it all applied most sweetly to my condition, 
and I said in my heart, /v/ill come now to Jes^s, and, 
trust m him. So when those who felt anxious were 
requested to come forward and kneel within the alter 
for prayer, / came and knelt down. While Jacob 
Gammon was praying for me, and for those who knelt 
by my side, my burden of sorrow, which had so long 
weighed me down, was removed. I felt the glory of 
God's love warming my heart, and making me very hap- 
py. I shouted aloud for joy, aod tried to tell all my 
poor slave brothers and sisters, who were in the house, 
what a dear Saviour I had found, and how liappy I felt 
in his precious love. Binney Peiinison asked me if I 
could forgive my master. I told him I could, and did, 
and tliat I could pray God to forgive him, too, and make 
him a good man. He asked me if I could tell my master 
of the change in my feelings. I told him I should tell 
him in the morning. *' And what," he said, " will you 
do if he whijis you still ihv praying and going to meet- 
log ?" I said I will ask Jesus to help me to bear the 
pain, and to forgive my master for being so v/icked. 
He then said, "Well, then. Brother Jones, I believe 
that you are a Giiristian." 

A good many of us went from the meeting to a broth- 
3 



^0 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAYE. 

er's cabin, where we began to express our joy in happy- 
songs. The palace of General Dudley was only a liitle 
way off, and he soon sent over a slave with orders to 
stop our noise, or he would send the patrolers upon us. 
We then stopped our singing, and spent the remainder 
of the night in talking, rejoicing, and praying. It was a 
night of very great happiness to me. The contrast be- 
tween my feelings then, and for many weeks previous, 
was very great. Now, all was bright and joyous in my 
relations towards my precious Saviour. I felt certain 
that .Jesus was my Saviour, and, in this blessed assurance 
a flood of glory and joy filled my happy soul. But this 
sweet night passed away, and, as the morning came, I 
felt that I must go home, and bear the slaveys heavy 
cross. I went, and told my mistress ihe blessed change 
in my feelingj^. She promised me what aid she could 
give me with my master, and enjoined upon me to be 
patient and very faithful to his interest, and, in this way, 
I should at length wear out his opposition to my praying 
and going to meeting. 

I went down to the store in a very happy state of 
mind. I told James my feelings. He called me a fool, 
and said master would be sure to whip me. I told him 
I hoped I should be able to bear it, and to forgive mas- 
ter for his cruelty to me. Master came down, talked 
with me a while, and told me that he should whip me 
because I had disobeyed him in staying out all night. 
He had told me he should whip me if ever I did so, and 
he should make every promise good. So I began to take 
off my clothes. He called me a crazy fool, and told me 
to keep my clothes on till he told me to take them off. 
He whipped me over my jacket ; but I enjoyed so much 
peace of mind, that I scarcely felt the cow-hide. This 
was the last whipping that Mr. Jones inflicted upon me. 

I was then nearly eighteen years old. I waited and 
begged for a paper to join the Church six months be- 
fore I could get it. But all this time I was cheerful, 
as far as a slave can be, and very earnest to do all I 
could do for my master and mistress. I was resolved to 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 27 

convince them that I was happier and better for being a 
Christian ; and ii»y master at last acknowledged that he 
could not find any fault with my conduct, and that it 
was impossible to find a more faithful slave than I was 
to him. And so, at last, he gave me a paper to Ben 
English, the leader of the colored members, and I joined 
the love feast, and was taken into the Church on trial 
for six months. I was put into Billy Cochran's class. 
At the expiration of six months, I was received into the 
Church in full fellowship, Quaker Davis' class. I re- 
mained there three years. My master was much kinder 
after this time than he had ever been before ; and I was 
allowed some more time to myself than I had been be- 
fore. I pursued my studies as far as I could, but I soon 
found the utter impossibility of carrying on my studies 
as I wished to do. I was a slave, and all avenues to real 
improvement I found guarded with jealous care and cruel 
tenacity against the despised and desolated bondman. 

I still felt a longing desire to improve, to be free, but 
the conviction was getting hold of my soul, that I was 
only struggling in vain when seeking to elevate myself 
into a manly and happy position. And now my mind 
was fast sinking into despair. I could read and write, 
and often enjoyed much happiness in poring over the 
very fevv books I could obtain ; and especially, at times, 
I found great peace in reading my old, worn Testament. 
But I wanted now that hope which had filled my mind 
with such joy when I first began to learn to read. I 
found much happiness in prayer. But here, also, my 
mind labored in sadness and darkness much of the time. 
I read in my Testament that Jesus came from the bright 
heaven of his glory into this selfish and cruel world to 
seek and to save the lost. I read and pondered with 
deep earnestness on the blessed rule of heavenly love 
which Jesus declared to be the whole of man's duty to 
his fellow : Each to treat his brother as he would be 
treated. I thought of the command given to the follow- 
ers of the loving Saviour, to teach all nations to obey the 
blessed precepts of the gospel. I considered that eighteen 



28 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

hundred years had gone by since Jesus plead for man's 
redemption and salvation, and, going u^ to heaven, had 
left His work of mercy to be finished by His children, and 
then I thought that I, and thousands of my brothers and 
sisters, loving the Lord and pressing on to a blessed and 
endless home in His presence, were slaves, — branded, 
whipped, chained ; deeply, hopelessly degraded, — thus 
degraded and outraged, loo, in a land of Bibles and 
Sabbaths and Churches, and by professed followers of 
the Lord of Love. And often such thoughts were too 
much for me. In an agony of despair, 1 have at times 
given up prayer and hope together, believing that my 
master's words were true, that " religion is a cursed 
mockery, and the Bible a lie." May God forgive me 
for doubting, at such times, His justice and love. There 
was but one thing that saved me from going at once and 
fully into dark infidelity, when such agony assailed my 
bleeding heart, — the memory oi seasons of unspeakable 
joy in prayer, when Love and Faith were strong in my 
l)eart. The sweet remembrance of these dear hours 
would draw me back to Jesus and to peace in his mer- 
cy. Oh that all true Christians knew just how the slave 
leels in view of the religion of this country, by whose 
sanction men and women are bound, branded, bought 
and sold ! 

About this time, my master was taken sick. On 
Sunday he was prostrated by mortal pains ; and, on Fii- 
day the same week he died. He left fifteen slaves ; I was 
purchased by Owen -Holmes for ^'435. I was then in 
my twenty-third year. I had just passed through the 
darkest season of despairing agony that I had yet known. 
This came upon me in consequence of the visit, which I 
have already described, to my dear old desolate home. 
About this time, too, I entered on a new and distinct pe- 
riod of life, which I will unfold in another chapter. I 
will close this period of sonow and shame with a few 
lines of touching interest to my mind. 

Who shall avenge the slave ? I stood and cried ; 
The earth, the earth, the echomg sea replied. 



IfAERATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 29 

I turned me to the ocean, but each -wave 

Declined to be the avenger of the slave. 

Who shall avenge the slave ? ray species cried ; 

The winds, the flood, the lightnings of the sky. 

I turned to these, from them one echo ran, 

The right avenger of the slave is man. 

Man was my fellow ; in his sight I stood. 

Wept and besought him by the voice of blood. 

Sternly he looked, as proud on earth he trod, 

Then said, the avenger of the slave is Gon. 

I looked in prayer towards Heaven, a while 'twas still, 

And then, methought, God's voice replied, I will. 



CHziFTEH SECOND. 



I enter now upon a new development of wrongs and 
woes which I, as a slave, was called to undergo. I 
must go back some two or three years from ihe time 
when my master d5ed, and I was sold to Owen Holmes. 
The bitterness of persecution which master Jones had 
kept up against me so long, because I would try to 
serve the Lord, had passed away. I was permitted to 
pray and go to our meetings without molestation. My 
master laid aside his terrible severity towards me. By 
his treatment of me afterwards, he seemed to feel that 
he had done wrong in scourging me as he had done, be- 
cause I could not obey his wicked command, to stop 
praying and keep away from the meetings. For, after 
the time of my joining the Church, he allowed me to go 
to all the meetings, and granted me many other little 
favors, which I had never before received from him. 
About this time, I began to feel very lonely. I wanted a 
friend to whom I could tell my story of sorrows, of un- 
satisfied longing, of new and fondly cherished plans. I 
wanted a companion whom I could love with all my warm 
affections, who should love me in return with a true and 
fervent heart, of whom I might think when toiling for a 
selfish, unfeeling master, who should dwell fondly on my 
memory when we were separated during the severe la- 
bors of the day, and with whom I might enjoy the bless- 
ed happiness of social endearments after the work of 
3* 



30 3S"AEEATITE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

each day was over. My heart yearned to have a home, 
if it was only the wretched home of the unprotected 
slave, to have a wife to love me and to love. It seems 
lo me that no one can have such fondness of love, and 
such intensity of desire for home and home affections, as 
the poor slave. Despised and trampled upon by a cruel 
race of unfeeling men, the bondman must die in the 
prime of his wretched life, if he finds no refuge in a 
dear home, where love and sympathy shall meet him 
from hearts made sacred to him by his own irrepressible 
affection and tenderness for them. And so I sought to 
love and win a true heart in return. I did this, too, 
with the full knowledge of the desperate agony that the 
slave husband and father is exposed to. Had I not seen 
this in the anguish of my own parents ? Yea, I saw it 
in every public auction, where men and women and 
children were brought upon the block, examined, and 
bought. I saw it on such occasions, in the hopeless 
agony depicted on the countenance of husband and wife, 
there separated to meet no more in this cruel world ; and 
in the screams of wild despair and useless entreaty which 
the mother, then deprived of her darling child, sent forth. 
I heard the doom which stares every slave parent in tl»e 
face each waking and sleeping hour of an unhappy life. 
And yet I sought to become a husband and a father, 
because I felt that I could live no longer unloved and 
unloving. I was married to Lucilla Smith, the slave to 
Mrs. Moore. We called it and we considered it a true 
marriage, although we knew well that marriage was not 
permitted to the slaves as a sacred right of the loving 
heart. Lucilla was seventeen years old when we were 
married. I loved her with all my heart, and she gave 
me a return for my affection with which I was contented. 
Oh, God of Love, thou knowest what happy hours we 
have passed in each other's society in our poor cabin. 
When we knelt in prayer, we never forgot to ask God 
to save us from the misery of cruel separation, while life 
and love were our portion. Oh, how we have talked of 
this dreadful fate, and wept in mingling sorrow, as we 



NAREATITE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 31 

thought of our desolation, if we should be parted and 
doomed to live on weary years, away from each other's 
dear presence. We had three dear little babes. Our 
fondness for our precious children increased the current 
feelino; of love for each other, which filled our hearts. 
They were bright, precious things, tliose little babes ; 
at least so they seemed to us. Lucilla and I were never 
tired of planning to improve their condition, as far as 
might be done for slaves. We prayed with new ferven- 
cy to our Father in Heaven to protect our precious 
babes. Lucilla was very proud of me, because I could 
read and write, and she often spoke of my teaching our 
dear little ones, and then she would say, with tears, 
*• Who knows, Thomas, but they may yet be free and 
happy ?" Lucilla was a valuable slave to her mistress. 
She was a seamstress, and very expert at her needle. 
I had a constant dread that Mrs. Moore, her mistress, 
would be in want of money, and sell my dear wife. We 
constantly dreaded a final separation. Our affection for 
each other was very strong, and this made us always 
apprehensive of a cruel parting. These fears were well 
founded, as our sorrowing hearts too soon learned. A 
iew years of very pure and constant happiness, for 
slaves, passed away, and we were parted to meet but 
once again till we meet in eternity. Mrs. Moore left 
Wilmington, and moved to Newburn. She carried with 
her my beloved Lucilla, and my three children, Annie, 
four years old ; Lizzie, two and a half years ; and our 
sweet little babe, Charlie. She remained there eighteen 
months. And oh, how lonely and dreary and despond- 
ing were those months of lonely life to my crushed 
heart! My dear wife and my precious children were 
seventy-four miles distant from me, carried away from 
me in utter scorn of my beseeching words. I was tempt- 
ed to put an end to my wretched life. I thought of my 
dear family by day and by night. A deep despair was 
in my heart, such as no one is called to bear in such 
cruel, crushing power as the poor slave, severed forever 
from the objects of his love, by the capacity of his 



32 NAURi-TIVE GE A KEFUGEE SLAVE. 

brother. But that dark time of despair passed away, 
and I saw once more my wife and children. Mrs. 
Moore left Newburn for Tuscaloosa, Ala., and passing 
through Wilmington on her journey, she spent one night 
in her old home. That night I passed with my wife and 
children. Lucilla had pined away under the agony of 
our separation, even more than I had done. That night 
she wept on my bosom, and we mingled bitter tears to- 
gether. Our dear children were baptized in the tears 
of ao:ony that were wruno; from our breakino^ hearts. 
The just God remember that night in the last award 
that we and our oppressors are to receive. 

The next morning Mrs. Moore embarked on board 
the packet. I followed my wife and children to the 
boat, and parted from them without a word of farewell. 
Our sobs and tears were our only adieu. Our hearts 
were too full of anguish for any other expression of our 
hopeless woe. I have never seen that dear family since, 
nor have I heard from them since I parted from them 
there. God only knows the bitterness of my agony, 
experienced in the separation of my wife and children 
from me. The memory of that great woe will find a 
fresh impression on my heart while that heart shall beat. 
How will the gifted and the great meet the charge 
against them at the great day, as the Judge shall say to 
them, in stern displeasure, " I was sick, destitute, im- 
prisoned, helpless, and ye ministered not unto me; for 
when ye slighted and despised these wretched, pleading 
slaves, ye did these acts of scorn against me. Depart, 
ye workers of iniquity." 

After my purchase by Owen Holmes, I hired my time 
at $150 per year, paid monthly. I rented a house of 
Dr. E. J. Desert. I worked, loading and unloading ves- 
sels that came into Wilmington, and could earn from one 
dollar to a dollar and a quarter a day. While my wife 
and family were spared to bless my home by their pres- 
ence and love, I was comparatively happy. But I 
found then that the agony of the terrible thought, '' I 
am a slave, my wife is a slave, my precious children are 



NAKllATIYE OF A IvEFUGEE SLATE. 33 

slaves," grew bitter and insupportable, just as the hap- 
piness in the society of my beloved home became more 
distinct and abounding. And this one cup of bitterness 
was ever at my lips. Hearts of kind sympathy and ten- 
der pity, did I not drain that cup of bitter woe to its 
very dregs, when my family were carried ofFinto return- 
less exile, and I was left a heartbroken, lonely man ! 
Can you be still inactive while thousands are drinking 
that portion of despair every year in this land of schools 
and Bibles? After I parted from my family, I contin- 
ued to toil on, but not as I had done before. My home 
was darker than the holds of ships in which I worked. 
Its light, the bright, joyous light of love and sympathy 
and mutual endearments, was quenched. Ah me, how 
dark it left my poor heart. It was colder than the win- 
ter wind and frost ; the warm sunshine was snatched 
away, and my poor heart froze in its bitter cold. Its 
gloom was deeper than prison or cave could make it. 
Was not there the deserted chairs and beds, once occu- 
pied by the objects of a husband's and a father's love ? 
Deserted ! How, and why ? The answer, is it not 
the unqualified condenmation of the government and re- 
ligion of this land ? I could not go into my cold, dark, 
cheerless house ; the sight of its deserted room was de- 
spair to my soul. So 1 v^iked on, taking jobs when- 
ever I could get them, and working often till nearly 
morning, and never going to my hon)e for rest till I 
could toil no more. And so I j)assed four years, and I 
[)8gan to fyel that I could not live in utter loneliness any 
longer. My heart was still and always yearning for af- 
fection and sympathy and loving communion. My wife 
was torn from me. I had ceased to hope for another 
meeting with her in this woild of oppression and suffer- 
ing ; so I sat down and wrote to Lucilla, that I could 
live alone no longer, and saying to her the sad farewell, 
which we could not say when we were sundered. I 
asked Mary R. Moore to come and cheer me in my 
desolate home. Slie became my wife, and, thank God, 
she has been rescued from slavery by the blessing of 



34 NARHATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

God and my efforts to save her. She is now my wife, 
and she is with me to-day, and till death {3arts us, se- 
cure from the iron hand of slavery. Three of our dear 
children are with us, too, in the old Commonwealth. I 
cannot say they are in a fret land ; for, even here, in 
the city of Boston, where, I am told, is kept the old 
cradle of liberty, mij precious children are excluded from 
the public schools, because their skin is black. Still, 
Boston is better than Wilmington, inasmuch as the ru- 
lers of this place permit me to send my children to any 
school at all. After my second marriage, I hired my 
wife of her master, and paid for her time, ,^48 a year, 
for three years. We had one child while Mary was a 
slave. That child is still in chains. The fourth year, 
by the aid of a white friend, I purchased my wife for 
.$350. We had before determined to try to accom- 
plish this enterprise, in order that our dear babes might 
be free. Besides, I felt that I could not bear another 
cruel separation from my wife and children. Yet, the 
dread of it was strong and unceasing upon my mind. 
So we made a box, and, through a hole in the top, we 
put in every piece of money, from five cents up to a 
dollar, that we could save from our hard earnings. This 
object nerved us for unceasing toil, for twenty months, 
or about that time. What h(^es and fears beset us as 
those months wore away ! I have been compelled to 
hide that box in a hole dug for it, when I knew the pa- 
trollers were coming to search my cabin. For well did 
I know, if they found my box, I should be penniless 
again. How often have I started and turned in sudden 
and terrible alarm, as I have dropped a piece of money 
into my box, and heard its loud ring upon the coin be- 
low, lest some prowling enemy should hear it, and steal 
from me my hoarded treasure. And how often have I 
started up in my sleep as the storm has beat aloud upon 
my humble home, with the cry of unspeakable agony 
in my heart, — "Then, O God, they have taken my 
box, and my wife and babes are still slaves." When 
my box was broken open, I still lacked a little of the 



NARRATIYE OF A BEFUGEE SLAVE. S5 

^'350 necessary to buy my wife. The kind friend who 
had promised to aid me in the contemplated purchase, 
made up the deficiency, and I became the owner of my 
wife. We had three children at this time, and O, how 
my crushed heart was uphfted in its pride and joy, as I 
took them in my arms and thought that they were not 
slaves. These three children are with me and with 
their mother now, where the slave's chains and whips 
are heard no more. Oh, how sweet is freedom to man ! 
But doubly dear is the consciousness to the father's 
heart, made bitter in its incurable woe by the degrada- 
tion of slavery', that his dear child is never to be a slave ! 
Would to God the fathers of this nation were all pos- 
sessed of a true consciousness of these things; for then, 
surely, they would will and secure the immediate end- 
ing; of human bondage. 

After I had purchased my wife, we still worked hard, 
and saved our earnings with great care, in order to get 
some property in hand for future use. As I saved my 
earnings, I got a white man whom I thought my friend, 
(his name I choose to keep back for the present,) to lay 
it out for me. In this way I became the owner of the 
cabin in which I lived, and two other small houses, all 
of which were held in the name of this supposed friend. 
He held them in his own name for me. A slave cannot 
hold property. I will here remark that I was deceived 
by this man ; and, when I ran away from my chains, after 
sending on my fanily, I was compelled to sacrifice the 
whole of this property. I left it, because I could not 
get my own in his hands, and came off entirely destitute. 
Thank God, /got away, and now I have no tears to 
shed over the loss of my houses. 

During the winter of 1848-9, a kind lady came and 
told me that some white men were plotting to enslave my 
wife and children again. She advised me to get them 
off to the free States as quickly and secretly as possible. 
A lawyer of Wilmington told me they were not safe, un- 
less emancipated by a special act of the Legislature. 
He was a member of the House, and tried to get through 



36 NAKEATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

the House a bill for their emancipation. But there was 
so much ill feeling upon this question that he could not 
do it. The Legislature threw it aside at once. He then 
advised me to get them off to the free States as my only 
course to save them. This I determined to do if possi- 
ble. I kept a good lookout for a vessel. I found one, 
and made a bargain with the captain to take on board 
for New York a free colored woman and her three chil- 
dren. A kind friend gave me a certificate of their free- 
dom to the captain, and I brought my wife and children 
on board at night, paid the captain $25 for their fare, 
and staid on the wharf in torturing fear till about sunrise, 
when I saw the vessel under way. It was soon out of 
sight. When I went home, I threw myself on my knees, 
and poured out my soul to God, to carry that ship and 
its precious cargo safely and swiftly on to a free haven, 
and to guard and guide me soon to a free home with my 
beloved family. And so I kept on, praying, working, hop- 
ing, pining, for nearly three weeks, when I received the 
happy news that my dear ones were safe with a true-heart- 
ed friend in Brooklyn. I had notified him beforehand that 
they were coming ; and now the good and glorious news 
came that they were safe with Robert H. Cousins, w^here 
the slaveholders could trouble them no more. I had ar- 
ranged with Mary when she left, to come on myself as 
soon as I could get the money for my houses and land. 
She was to write to me as though she had gone to New 
York on a visit, intending to come back and she was to 
speak of New York as if she did not like it at all. I 
knew my master would be very angry when he heard she 
had gone unbeknown to him, and I thought he would de- 
mand to see the letters my wife should get friends in New 
York to write to me for her ; and so I made ready to meet 
and quiet his suspicions, while I was plotting my own es- 
cape. For more than three months I tried to get the mon- 
ey, or part of it, for my houses ; but was put off and de^ 
ceived, till I found I must come off without a cent of the 
property I had tried so hard to accumulate. I was required 
to call and see my master every day, because he suspect- 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 37 

ed me of design to run away. He was taken suddenly 
sick and then I started for my wife and children. Be- 
fore I give a narrative of my escape, Iwill give copies of 
the letters which passed between me and my wife while 
I remained in the land of bondage after her escape. 
These letters, with their post marks, are all in my pos- 
session, and can be examined by any one who may doubt 
their authenticity, or the fidelity with which they are 
here (r'wen. The kirtd friend who has written this nar- 
rative' for me has corrected some mistakes in the construc- 
tion and spelling of these letters, and some he has left un- 
corrected. He has also omitted some repetitions ; other- 
wise they are given as exact copies. 1 wrote my own 
letters ; my wife wrote by the help of a friend. I give 
all my letters, and the tv/o from my wife which I was 
able to keep. The following was written soon after my 
wife started for New York, 

Wilmington, N. C, July 11, 1849. 
My dear Wife — I write these few lines to inform 
you that I am well, and hope they may find you and the 
children well, and all the friends. My dear wife. Hong 
to see you and the children one time more in this world. 
I hope to see you all soon. Don't get out of heart, for I 
will come as soon as I can. I hope it will not be long, 
for God will be my helper, and I feel he 2vill help me. 
My dear wife, you must pray forme, that God may help 
me. Tell John he must be a good boy till I see him. 
I must not forget sister Ghavis. She must pray for me, 
that God may help me come out. Tell her I say that 
she must be laithful to God ; and I hope dear wife, you 
will be faithful to God. Tell sister Ghavis that Henry 
will be out soon, and he wants her keep a good heart and 
he will send money out to her. Tell her he says she 
must write to him as soon as she can, for he will not 
stay long behind her. As soon as he gets his money he 
will coiue. I hope to see you all very soon. Tell my 
Brothering to pray for me, that God may help me to 
get there safe and make my way clear before me. Help 
4 



38 XARRATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLATE. 

me by your prayers, that God may be with me. Tell 
Brother Robert H. Cousins that he must pray for me ; 
for 1 long to meet him one time more in this world. Sis- 
ter Tucker and husband give thare lov^e to you and 
Sister Chavis, and say that you must pray for them. 
Dear wife, you may look for me soon. But what way 
I will come, I can't tell you now. You may look for 
me in three weeks from now. You must try and do 
the best you can till I come. You know how it is with 
me, and how I have to come. Tell the Church to pray 
for me, for I hope to reach that land if I live, and I 
want the prayers of all God's children. I can't say any 
more at this time ; but, I remain your dear husband, 
rill death, THOIMAS JONES. 

P. S. — Dear wife, I want you to make out that you 
don't like New York. When you wnite to me you 
must say so. Do mind how you write. 

The next letter was written before I had received any 
certain intelligence of my wife's arrival at New York. 

Wilmington, N. C, July 17, 1849. 
My dear Wife — I write to tell you I am well, and 
I hope these few lines will find you and the children 
well. I long to see you all one tim.e more. Do pray for 
me, tliat God may help me to get to you all. Do ask 
lister to pray the Lord to help me. 1 will trust in God, 
for I know that He is my friend, and He will help me. 
My dear wife, tell my cliildren I say they must be good 
till I see them once more. Do give my love to Brother 
R. H. Cousins, and tell him I hope to meet him in two 
or three weeks from now. Then I can tell him all I 
want to say to him. Tell Sister Chavis I say, do not 
come back to this place till I come. Her husband 
say he v/ant her to stay, and he will come on soon. My 
dear wife, I want you to do the best you can tiil I come. 
I will come as soon as I can. You and sister Chavis 
must live together, for you went together, and you must 
try to stay together. Do give my love to sister Johns- 
ton and husband, and all of my friends. Ask them all 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 39 

to pray for me, that God may be with me in all that I 
do to meet you all one time more. My dear wife, you 
know how I told you, you must mind how you w^rite 
your letters. You must not forget to write as if you 
did not like New York, and that you will come home 
soon. You know what 1 told you to do, and now you 
must not forget it, when you write. I will send you 
some money in my next letter. I have not sold my 
houses yet, and if I can't sell, I will leave them all, and 
come to you and the children. 1 will trust in that God 
who can helji the poor. My dear, don't forget what I 
told you to do when you write. You know how 1 have 
to do. Be careful how you write. I hope to he with you 
soon, by the help of God. Bur, aboye all things, ask 
all to pray for me, that God may open the way for me to 
come safe. I hope to be with you soon by the help of the 
Lord. Tell them if I never come, to go on, and may 
God help them to go forth to glorious war. Tell them 
to see on the mountain top the standard of God. Tell 
them to follow their Captain, and be led to certain vic- 
tory. Tell them I can but sing v^ith my latest breath 
happy, if T may to the last speak His name, preach 
Him to all, and cry, in death, "Behold the Lamb." Go 
on, my dear wife, and trust in God for all things. I 
remain your husband, THOMAS JONES. 

Before I wrote the next, I received the happy news 
that mv wife was safe with Brother Cousins. 

Wilmington, N. C, July 25, 1849. 
My DEAR Wife — Do tell my children they must be 
good children till I come to them; and you, my dear 
wife, must do the best you can ; for I don't know howl 
will come, but I will do the ^best I can for you. I hope 
God will help me, for, if He don't, I don't know what I 
will do. My dear wife, I have not sold my houses yet, 
but I will do the best lean. If I had money, I would 
leave all I have and come, for I know the Lord will help 
me. It is for want of money that I can't come. But I 
hope, my dear wife, the Lord will help me out. Tell 



40 NAEKATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

Brother Cousins I hope he and all the people of God 
will pray for me ; and you, my dear wife, must not for- 
get to pray for me. Ask Brother Cousins, if he pleases, 
to put my children to some school. Dear wife, you 
know the white people will read your letters to me ; 
do mind how you write. No one but God knows my 
heart. Do pray for me. I remain your husband till 
death. THOMAS JONES. 

P. S. — My dear wife, I received your letter the 24th 
of July, and was truly glad to hear you arrived safe in 
New York. Please tell Brother Cousins 1 will write to 
him in a few days, and I will send you some money. 
My dear wife do mind how you write. You must not 
forget I am in a slave place, and 1 can't buy myself for 
the money. You know how it is, an(j you must tell 
brother Cousins. I have not sold yet, but if 1 can't sell, 
I will come some how, by the help of the Lord. John 
Holmes is still in my way. I want you to write a letter 
and say in it, that you will be home in two months, so I 
can let them read it, for they think I will run away and 
come to you. So do mind how you write for the 
Lord's sake. THOMAS JONES. 

The next letter was written to Sister C ha vis, who 
\^ent on to New York, but got disheartened and came 
back to Wilmington. 

Wilmington, N. C, Aug. 4, 1819. 
My dear Sister — I hope to see you in a few days, 
and all my friends. I liope, dear sister, you will not 
forget to pray for me, for, by the help of God, I will see 
you in a few days. Your husband is coming on soon, 
but I will be on before him. I would have been on be- 
fore now, but I could not get my money. I have had a 
hard time to get money to leave with. I am sorry to 
hear that you think we can't get a living where you are. 
My dear sister, a smart man can get a living anywhere 
in the world if he try. Don't think we can't live out there, 
for I know God will help us. You know God has prom- 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 4 1 

ised a living to all His children. Don't forget that God 
is ever present, for we must trust Him till death. Don't 
get out of heart, for I know we can live out there, if any 
one can. You may look for me before your husband. 
Don't leave New York before I come, for you know 
what I told you before you left Wilmington. If you come 
back to this place before I get off, it will make it bad 
for me. You know what the white people here are. 
Please don't come yet. I am your brother in the Lord, 
till death. THOMAS JONES. 

P. S. — I sent the letter you wrote to Mr. John 
Ranks. I thought you will wait for a letter from your 
husband, and 1 hope you will be better satisfied in your 
mind that ive can ":et a livinir out there. Your husband 
has wrote to you last week; I hope you have got the 
letter. Oh, that you may trust in God every day, for I 
know God is your friend, and you must pray night and 
day, that He may help you. I long lo see you one time 
more iti this world. VVe went into the new Ciiurch on 
the 9th day of this month. God was with us on thai day, 
and we had a good time. Tliough my time with them 
is short, I hope God will be with them, and may we all 
meet in ihe kingdom at last. So pray for nu^ my dear 
sister. iVunt Narvoy has been dead nearly four weeks. 
She died happy in the Lord, and is gone home to rest. 
I hope we may meet in the kin-^dom at last. Good 
night, my dear sister. THOMAS JONES. 

The next letter is to my wife and Brother Cousins, 
and explains itself 

Wilmington, August 7, 1849. 

My dear Wife — I long to see you once more in this 
world, and I hope it will not be very long before I am 
with you. I am trying, my dear wife, to do all I can to 
get to you. But I hope you will not forget to mind how 
you write to me. If you should not mind how you write, 
you will do me great harm. You know I told you to 
write that you would be home, in two months, or three 

months at the longest. But in two months I told them 

4* 



42 NAKEATIYE OF A EEFUGEE SLAVE. 

you would be home. Now, my dear, you must mind, 
and don't forget, for you know how it is here ; a man 
can't say that his soul is his own, that is, a colored man. 
So do mind how you write to me. Tell Sister Chavis I 
say she must write to me ; and I hope soon I will write 
my last letter. I will let you know in my next letter how^ 
all things are with me. Dear wife, don't get out of heart, 
for God is my friend. The will of God is my sure de- 
fence, nor earth, nor hell can pluck me thence, for God 
hath spoken the word. My dear wife, in reply to your 
kind letter, received the second day of this month, I 
have wrote these few lines. 1 hope you will pray for 
me, your dear husband, THOxMAS JONES. 

P. S. — To Brother Cousins. — My dear Brother — 
I hope you will not think hard of me for not writing to 
you, for you know how it is with me out here. God 
knows that I would write to you at any time, if it was 
not for some things. You know the white people don't 
like for us to write to New York. Now, let me ask vour 
prayers, and the prayers of all the Church, and God's 
children, that I may see you all soon. I know that God 
is my friend, for He doth my burden bear. Though I am 
hut dust and ashes, I bless God, and often feel the pow- 
er of God. Oh, my brother, pray for me, who loves you 
all, for I have found of late much comfort in the word of 
God's love. When I come where you are, in the work 
of the Lord, and I hope tlie time will soon come, when 
the Gospel will be preached to the whole world of man- 
kind. Then go on, dear brother, and do all you can for 
the Lord. I hope the Lord will help me to get where 
vou are at work soon. Nothing more, but I remain your 
brother in the Lord, THOMAS JONES. 

The next is from my wife. 

Brooklyn, Aug. 10, 1849. 

My dear Husband — I got your kind letter of the 
2.3d July, and rejoiced to hear that you was well. I 
have been very sick myself, and so has Alexander; but, 
thanks to the Lord, these line? leave me and the chil- 



NAEKATIVE OF A EEFUGEE SLATE. 43 

dren right well. I hope in God they may find you and 
my son and my mother, and all enquiring friends, enjoy- 
ing the same blessings. My dear, you requested me and 
Mrs. Chavis to stay together ; but she has taken other 
people's advice, beside mine and Mr. Cousin's, and has 
gone away. She started for home before we knew a 
word of it. She left me on the 8th of tliis month. Do 
give my love to Betsey Webb and to her husband. Tell 
her I am sorry she has not come on before now. I am 
waiting to see her before I start for home. My dear hus- 
band, you know you ought to send me some money to 
pay my board. You know I don't love to leave in this 
way with my children. It is true that Brother Cousins 
has not said anything to me about it. You keep writing 
that you are going to send it in your next letter; you 
know I love to act independent, and I wish you to help 
me to do so now, if you please. Do give my compli- 
ments to aunt Pvloore, and tell her the children all send 
their love to her. They send their love to you and say 
they want to kiss you mighty bad. The children send 
their love to brother Edward. I long to see you, hus- 
band. No more at present, but remain your loving wife, 
till death. RYNAR JONES. 

The next letter is in answer to the letter from my 
wife, given above. 

Wilmington, N. C, Aug. 12, 1849. 

My DEAR Wife — I received yor paper of the lOtb 
to-day. I am glad to hear that you are well, and the 
children and friends. I have witten to brother Cousins, 
and told him to tell you that I had not sold out yet. 
But I hope to sell in a few days, and then I will send 
you some money. My dear wife, you know that I will 
do all I can for you and for my children, and that with 
all my heart. Do, try and wait on me a few days, and 
I hope you will see me and the money too. I am trying 
to do all I can to sell out ; but you know how it is here, 
and so does Brother Cousins. I will do all I know, for 
I think of you, my dear wife, and the children, day and 



44 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

night. If I can get my money, I will see you soon, by 
the help of God and my good friend, and that is a wo- 
man ; she is wailing for me to come every day. My 
dear wife, all I want is money and your prayers, and the 
prayers of my friends. I know that God will help me 
out of my trouble ; I know that God is my friend, and I 
will still trust in Him. You wrote to me that Mrs. Gha- 
vis left New York. She has not got home yet. I hope, 
dear wife, that you have done all your part for her. Do 
give my love to Brother Cousins ; ask him to pray for 
me, and all God's people to pray for me, a poor slave 
at this time. My dear wife, since I wrote last, I have 
seen much of the goodness of the Lord. Pray for me, 
that I may see more, and that I m.ay trust in Him. My 
dear wife, I want you should pray forme day and night, 
till you see me. For by the help of God, I will see you 
all soon. I do think now it will be but a kw days. Do 
give my love to my children, and tell them that I want 
to kiss them all. Good night, my dear, I must go lo 
bed, it is one o'clock at night, and I have a pain in my 
head at (his time. Do tell Brother Cousins that I say 
he must look out for me, on John street, in a few days. 
Nothing more, but I remain your husband till death, 

THOMAS JONES. 

Letter from my wife. 

Brooklyn, August 23, 1849. 

My DEAR Husband — It is with the affectionate feel- 
ings of a wife I received your letter of the 19th inst. 
It found me and the children well, and we were glad to 
hear that you was well. But I feel very sorry you have 
not sold out yet ; I was in hopes you would have sold 
by the time you promised, before I got home. Your 
letter found Mr. Cousins and his wife very sick. Mr. C. 
has not been out of the house going on two weeks. He 
was taken by this sickness, so common, which carries 
30 many people off, but, by the help of God and good 
attendance, he is much on the mend, and his wife also. 
You ask how much I pay for board. It is three dollars 



NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 45 

a week for myself and children. In all the letters you 
have written to me, you don't say a word of mother or 
Edward. It makes me feel bad not to hear from them. 
Husband, I have not paid Mr. Cousins any board, and 
am waiting for you to send me on some money. I will 
pray for you hourly, publicly and privately, and beseech 
the Almighty God, till 1 see you again. I shall trust in 
God ; He will do all things for the best. I am yours till 
death do us part, RYNAR JONES. 

Last letter to my wife from the land of bondage. 

Wilmington, N. C, Aug. 30, 1849. 
My J3EAR Wife — I have been quite sick for three 
weeks, but, thank God, I am better at this time, and 
hope iliese few lines will find you and the children all 
well. I hope, my dear wife, that you have not got out 
of heart looking for me ; you know how it is hei-e ; I did 
think I would have got my money here before this time. 
But I can't get it, and I will leave all and come to you 
as soon as 1 can. So don't get out of heart, my dear 
wife ; I have a hard trial here ; do pray for me that the 
Lord may help me to see you all soon. I think of you 
day and night, and my dear children, kiss them for me; 
I hope to kiss them soon. Edward is sold to Owen 
Holmes ; but I think Mr. Josh. Wright will get him 
from H. I have done all I could for Edward. Don't 
think of coming back here, for I will come to you or 
die. But I want you should write one more letter to 
me, and say you will be home in a month. Mr. Daw- 
son will be on to New York next week, and you will 
see him ; mind how you talk before him, for you know 
how it is, though he is a friend to me. Now, you must 
mind what I tell you, my dear wife, for, if you don't, 
you will make it hard for me. Now, my dear wife, 
you must not come back here for your brother and sis- 
ter ; they talk too much ; but mind what I say to you, 
for you know I will do all I can for you ; you must not 
think that you will not get any money, for you shall 
have it soon. Don't get out of heart, my dear wife ; I 



46 2TARRATIYE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

hope I shall see you soon. Nothing more, but I re- 
main your husband till death, THOMz\S JONES 

Soon after despatching this letter, I bargained, while 
my master lay sick, with the steward of the Brig Bell, 
to stow me away in the hold of the ship, and take me 
on to New York. I paid him eight dollars, which was 
all the money I then had or could get. I went into tlie 
hold, with an allowance of biscuit and water, and I he 
ship started. She was loaded with turpentine, and 1 
found on the second day, that 1 could not live out the 
passage there. So I told the steward, and he took me 
out in a state of great weakness, and stowed me away 
in one of the state rooms. Here I was discovered by 
the captain. Fie charged me with being a runaway 
slave, and said he should send me back by the first op- 
portunity that offered. That day a severe storm came 
on, and for several days we were driven by the gale. I 
turned to and cooked for the crew. The storm was 
followed by a calm of several days; and when the wind 
sprung up again, the captain made for port at once. I 
had reason to suspect, from the manner in which I was 
guarded, after the ship came to anchor off New Yoik, 
that the captain was plotting to send me back. I re- 
solved to peril life in a last effort to get on shore. So, 
while the captain was in the city, and the mate was 
busy in the cabin, mending his clothes, I made a raft of 
such loose barrels as I could get, and hastily bound 
them together, and, committing myself to God, I launch- 
ed forth upon the waves. The shore was about a mile 
distant; 1 had the tide in my favor, and with its help, 
I had paddled one fourth the distance, when the mate 
of the Bell discovered my escape, and made after me in 
tho boat. I waved my old hat for help, and a boat, 
which seemed to be coming round, not far from me, 
came to my rescue. I was taken on board. They 
asked me if I was a slave, and told me not to fear to 
tell the truth, for I was with friends, and they would 
protect me. I told them my circumstances just as they 



NARRATIVE OP A REFUGEE SLATE. 47 

were. They were as good as iheir word. When tl'.e 
mate came up ihey ordered him to keep off, and toid 
him they would prosecute him if he touched me. They 
took me lo Brother Cousins, and gave me a Httle money 
and some clotlies in addition to all their otlier kindness. 

The meeting with my wife and children I cannot de- 
scribe. It was a moment of joy too deep and holy for 
any attempt to paint it. Husbands who love as I have 
loved, and fathers with hearts of fond, devoted affec- 
tion, may imagine the scene, and my feelings, as my 
dear wife lay sobbing in her joy in my arms, and my 
three dear little babes were clinging to my knees, cry- 
ing, " Pa has come ; Pa has come." It was the happy 
hour of my life. I then felt repaid for all my troubles 
and toils to secure the freedom of my family and my 
own. O God, would that my other dear ones were 
here, too. God in mercy speed the day when right 
shall over might prevail, and all the down-trodden sons 
and daughters of toil and want shall be free and pious 
and happy. 

I have but little more now to say. The Sabbath 
after my arrival in Brooklyn, I preached in the morning 
in the Bethel ; I then came on to Hartford. A gentle- 
man kindly paid my passage to that place, and sent me 
an introduction to a true-hearted friend. I staid in 
Hartford twenty-four hours ; but finding I was pursued, 
and being informed that I should be safer in Massachu- 
setts than in Connecticut, I came on to Springfield, and 
from thence lo Boston, where I arrived penniless and 
friendless, the 7ih of October. A generous friend took 
me, though a stranger, in, and fed and cheered me. 
He loaned me five dollars to get my dear family to Bos- 
ton. He helped me to get a chance to lecture in May 
Street Church, where I received a contribution of 
^2.58 ; also, in the Sion Church, where I obtained 
$2.33 ; and in the Bethel Church, where they- gave 
me ,$3.53. And so I was enabled to get my family to 
Boston. Entirely destitute, without employment, I now 
met with a kind friend who took me with him to Dan- 



48 NARRATIVE OF A REFUGEE SLAVE. 

vers. I lectured and preached in the Free Evangelical 
Church, and received most generous and opportune aid. 
They gave me ten dollars, and by their kindness, they 
lifted up a sinking brother. The next Sabbath evening 
I lectured in the Wesleyan Church in Boston, and re- 
ceived a contribution of $3.33. During the week fol- 
lowing, I was assisted by the pastor of this Church, and 
by several individual members. The next Sabbath, I 
spent with Brother Flanders, of Exeter, N. H. He 
gave me a brother's warm welcome. I preached for 
him in the Wesleyan Church, of which he is pastor, in 
the morning, and lectured in the evening to a full and 
attentive house. Here I received a generous contribu- 
tion of nearly ten dollars. To-morrow is Thanksgiv- 
ing Day. God will know, and He alone can know, ihe 
deep and fervent gratitude and joy with which 1 shall 
keep it, as I gather my friends, my dear family, around 
me to celebrate the unspeakable goodness of God to 
me, and to speak, with swelling hearts, of the kindness 
of the dear friends who have poured upon our sadness 
and fears the sunlight of sympathy, love and generous 
aid. May the blessing of Heaven rest down now and 
forever upon them, is the prayer of their grateful broth- 
er, and of his dear family, by their kindness saved from 
pinching want. 

THOMAS H. JONES. 



THE 



EXPEEIENCE OF THOMAS JONES, 



WHO WAS 



A SLAVE FOR FORTY-THREE YEARS. 



WRITTEN BY A FRIEND, 

AS GIVEN TO HIM BY BEOTHEE JONES. 




.-O 



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SPRINGFIELD: 
PRINTED BY H. S. TAYLOR, SANFORD STREET. 

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